


Uncovered in Therapy

by Purple_Girl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Drugged Will Graham, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Masturbation, One Shot, Smut, Therapy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purple_Girl/pseuds/Purple_Girl
Summary: This fic is set in the canon Hannibal universe, at the time of the totem pole episode in series one. Will has just started experiencing lost time and is speaking with Hannibal about his growing concerns over his mental health, when Hannibal suggests they try drug-induced hypnotherapy to help determine Will's state of mind. The treatment starts off as Hannibal expects, until a drugged and hypnotised Will confesses something to the doctor, leading to a moment of eroticism that Hannibal both encourages and greatly enjoys. What will be uncovered in therapy? Something big, and very interesting...





	Uncovered in Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't added a consent issue tag, as Will is the instigator of the scenario and nothing is done against anyone's will, but he is under the effects of drug-induced hypnosis and technically not entirely himself. I just thought that was worth noting.
> 
> Also, this is my first fanfic, so I hope it's alright and someone enjoys it.

Will leaned into the back of the black leather chair in which he sat, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes with a deep sigh, for the third time since arriving at doctor Lecter’s office. He kept his fingers there for a moment and grimaced, as if he were in pain.

“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal asked, having been quietly observing him from the plush chair opposite. “Another headache?”

Will nodded with a slight grunt, dropping his hand to the arm rest, and glancing over at the doctor after putting his glasses back on.

“Lately, my head hurts more often than not,” he said. “Aspirin doesn’t help at all. It’s really starting to concern me now.”

“You’re under a lot of stress, and you’ve seen some immeasurably dark things,” Hannibal remarked. “I would be surprised if the things you’ve faced recently weren’t having a profound effect on you.”

“But losing time like that?” Will murmured, referring to earlier in the week when he’d found himself at Lecter’s office door with no memory of the journey there. “I can’t shake the thought that something might be very wrong, in my head.”

“Well, as I suggested at the time, it wouldn’t be abnormal for your mind to have sought a desperate escape from that gruesome scene at the beach. I still believe it is a matter of momentary weakened mental capacity, rather than a physical ailment,” Hannibal said. “Tell me, has your sleep been affected further?”

“I had another nightmare last night, about Wells’ totem pole,” Will replied. “The top of it was decorated with antlers. Ornate. Almost beautiful, if you can believe it.” 

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile, which he immediately quelled, remaining silent to encourage Will to continue. His eyes moved slowly across the features on Will’s weary face, taking note of his expressions as he spoke, and the confusion in his eyes, intrigue dancing within the doctor’s own eyes.

“I was impaled on the antlers, but I didn’t feel anything. Not pain, not fear. I was calm,” Will went on. “I could only move my head, my limbs were entangled in the antlers and the cold arms of another victim. I turned my head to look around, maybe to look for help, but all around there was only ocean. I woke up sweating.”

“And how did you feel upon waking?” Hannibal asked him. 

Will swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “In part, I felt afraid, even though I hadn’t been in the dream. Not a panic, but more a dull sense of… dread.”

Hannibal tilted his head slightly. “And the other part?”

Will sat forward again and pushed a few stray curls away from his face, his gaze flitting around the room for a moment in his usual nervous manner, before settling his eyes back on Hannibal.

“I felt disappointed,” he said quietly. “Painfully disappointed.”

“Disappointed,” Hannibal repeated. “Did you find yourself mourning the loss of the peaceful feeling of calm from the dream?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Yes,” Will admitted. “I was disappointed to have woken up and found that I wasn’t calm anymore. And then, I felt… I didn’t like that I felt so peaceful in such a morbid dream. I was dying atop a stack of dead bodies in the middle of nowhere. It shouldn’t have felt peaceful.”

“You feel guilty that you could find something good amongst such horror, Will?” Hannibal suggested.

“Yes. I felt powerful distaste at finding anything good there,” Will agreed. He frowned and rubbed his palms against the sides of his jeans, his eyes roaming the room again. “It was far too easy a thought for my mind to go to. It frightened me, doctor. I just… I don’t feel like myself at all.”

Hannibal watched calmly as Will stood up and began to slowly pace in front of his chair, alternating between wringing his hands and tucking them in and out of his pockets. There was a faint smattering of perspiration on his forehead.

“Your ability to allow your mind into those frightening places is why Jack wanted you out there in the field in the first place,” Hannibal reminded him.

“In the field, it’s useful,” Will countered. “As difficult as it is to bear, I can’t deny its usefulness. But at home, in my life, in my dreams? Why is it bleeding so freely into my regular thoughts?” He released a low, exasperated growl. 

“Your concern for your mental state the longer you are out in the field, is natural,” Hannibal said assuredly, “Especially considering how ‘unlike yourself’ you are feeling. You are of course not the only one with such concerns, Will. Jack is concerned, despite his willingness to continually put you to work. Doctor Bloom has also shown concern from the start.”

Will stopped pacing and folded his arms across his chest, facing the doctor.

“And you?” He asked, one eyebrow quizzically raised. “I’m curious, how do you think my mind is faring? Do you think I should be as concerned as I am, or is this really all just a typical reaction to a higher-than-normal level of exposure to stress?”

Hannibal pursed his lips slightly and tilted his head back to look up at Will’s troubled face, then smiled slightly.

“May I suggest something that may give us some answers?”

“Should I be worried that you didn’t answer my question?” Will mused.

“We could potentially find an answer together, if you’re willing to try,” Hannibal replied, gesturing his hand to the small table a few feet away from his right side. On it sat a tall, black metronome, with a small lightbulb nestled beneath the pendulum.

“What’s that for?” Will asked, walking over to look more closely.

“I use it as an aid in hypnotherapy,” Hannibal said, rising from his chair and joining Will at the metronome, smoothing down his midnight blue lapels as he moved. “One focuses on the light and the sound, and I direct the thought process in a useful direction. I would normally use it alongside a very small dose of mescaline.”

“You want to hypnotise me? I thought that was more or less a cheap parlour trick,” Will said skeptically. “And with drugs?”

“On the contrary, I’ve found it to be a helpful tool in determining someone’s mental state, by getting in touch with those deeper thoughts a person may be less aware of,” Hannibal replied. “The mescaline merely helps with altering consciousness and making the psyche more pliable.”

Will studied the intricate salmon-coloured pattern on Lecter’s pocket square for several moments as his mind worked around the doctor’s suggestion. He was wary of the idea that a mind-altering drug could be helpful to him while his mind already felt so drastically altered from his usual reality, and nervous at the prospect of turning over control of his mind to another, even Hannibal. There was something far too intimate about the whole idea that made him uncomfortable. What if he didn’t like what his mind revealed?

Hannibal’s calm, rich voice then eased gently into his thoughts.

“I promise you Will, nothing bad will happen to you. I’ll be here guiding you the entire time. Do you trust me to look after you?”

Will took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, before nodding slowly and releasing it. 

“Yes,” he conceded. “Alright doctor Lecter, let’s try it. If you feel it could help me make sense of how I’m feeling.”

He missed the flicker of triumph that skated briefly across Hannibal’s face, as he went to sit back down in the leather seat. Lifting the little table with the metronome and setting it down in front of Will, Hannibal offered him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be afraid, Will. I’ll fetch the mescaline, and we can hopefully begin to gauge the integrity of the ballasts of your mental ship.”

Will gave a more relaxed smile in return, appreciating the ship simile, as a lover of seafaring. He watched as Hannibal retreated to a desk at the farthest side of the room which carried a pair of decorative tea caddies, a set of china teacups, and a gleaming copper kettle, along with a miniature hotplate and three bottles of water.

Hannibal opened one of the bottles and half-filled the kettle, then took a paper sachet of powder from the larger of the caddies, taking a pinch between his fingers and sprinkling it into the water. He stirred it with a long-handled spoon, and placed the kettle on the warmed hotplate to heat up, humming very softly to himself. 

Outwardly, he was as ever the picture of composure, but he felt an eager rousing of anticipation within. He hadn’t entirely expected Will to agree to the hypnosis treatment, considering that his declining mental state had begun to show hints of paranoia. What interesting tidbits might be drawn out of Will’s increasingly erratic mind? What dark knots of thought could be carefully teased out and stored away for future use, for manipulating the man when it suited Hannibal’s requirements?

“I’m going to start by talking you into a lightly hypnotised state, once you’ve drunk this,” he called over to Will. “You should feel very calm, and remain so as we delve deeper, but if you begin to feel overly anxious, we will terminate the treatment, and I will remain with you until you fully regain your faculties, which might take a couple of hours. You may not continually be aware of me, and you likely won’t remember much of what we talk about, but I’ll be here with you the entire time.”

“I appreciate it,” Will replied dryly, holding out his hand to receive the cup as Hannibal brought it over to him a moment later. “I have to admit, I’m nervous.”

“You’re in good hands, Will,” Hannibal assured him, leaning down to start the metronome moving, and clicking on the tiny lightbulb. “I want you to look at the light while you drink. Listen to the rhythmic ticking. You may sit back in the chair if it makes you more comfortable, you may remove your glasses or shoes, whatever would help you feel most at ease.”

Will did as he was told and began to concentrate on the small white light, taking slow sips of the drugged tea. He was surprised to find that the soft ticking of the metronome was actually quite soothing to listen to, rather than irritating as he had expected. The light crept further across his vision the longer he looked; he disliked the bitter taste of the tea, but felt increasingly intrigued by the movement of the pendulum.

He finished the tea, and felt Hannibal’s hand take the cup from his own, caught the scent of the doctor’s cologne – far superior to his own – and heard the pleasant _clink_ of the china as it was set down nearby. He was vaguely aware that doctor Lecter was talking to him again, talking him into a hypnotised state he supposed, though he wasn’t sure he could make out any of the words. 

The metronome was fascinating to him, and as the drug in his system took a firmer hold, he felt himself leaning slowly backwards, stopping when his upper back was resting against the firm but satisfyingly cushioned seat. The thought floated across his mind that he hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep. He felt a small giggle leave his mouth at the idea of passing out after having tea, and not alcohol.

Hannibal watched Will sink into the chair and laugh softly, his mind already distanced from the reality of the office. Retrieving a notebook and pen from his desk, Hannibal opened it to a fresh page, and made a couple of quick reference notes.

“Can you hear me clearly, Will?” he asked. 

“Mmhmm,” Will confirmed, his eyes watching the light. He felt more at ease than he had in what seemed at that moment like years. His hands rested loosely in his lap. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You don’t have to. You can sit there as long as you like.”

“Good,” Will murmured. “I like this chair.”

“I’m glad. Will, I’d like to do some word association with you,” Hannibal proposed, “as it’s a relatively simple way of determining some of the connections your mind makes to things in your life. I think it would be a good place to start.”

“Word association. Alright,” Will agreed. 

“Good. I’m going to say some things, and I’d like you to respond with the first thing that comes to your mind. It can be a word, a sentence, a feeling; whatever comes to your mind before anything else. Do you understand?”

Will nodded.

Pen poised to jot down the answers, Hannibal began.

“Work.”

“Challenging,” Will replied instantly. “Draining. But important, too.”

“Home,” Hannibal said.

“My dogs,” Will answered with a smile. “They make me feel at home.”

Hannibal mirrored the smile as he wrote the response down. He found younger man’s seemingly inexhaustible enthusiasm for dogs oddly endearing.

“You like having dependents to take care of, Will?” 

“Yep. They make me feel… needed,” Will said. “It’s comforting.”

Hannibal detected the slight pang of sadness in Will’s tone, and decided to change direction, intent on exploring.

“Abigail Hobbs,” he continued. His eyes searched Will’s face as he said her name, and caught the momentary furrow of Will’s brow, the quiver of his bottom lip, for only a second.

“Killed her dad,” was the low reply.

“Garret Jacob Hobbs,” Hannibal said immediately.

This time, Will’s brow knitted together into a hard frown, and he turned his face to one side.

“Dead, dead, dead,” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow a fraction, slightly surprised by the vitriol in Will’s tone, which didn’t seem to match with the guilt covering his youthful face.

“Dead because you killed him,” Hannibal prompted.

“Yep. Too many shots. Lousy aim,” Will retorted.

“And yet, highly effective,” Hannibal pointed out. 

Will tightened his lips together a moment and didn’t reply. His eyelids fluttered a little as he fought to dispel the grim, grey face of Garret before it fully appeared in his mind yet again.

Hannibal judged that Will wasn’t going to comment further on the matter of Hobbs’ death and continued, “Jack Crawford?”

“Overbearing,” Will laughed. “Efficient. Smart. He knows that what I can do is a necessary evil.”

“You genuinely think your empathic gift of imagination is evil, Will?” Hannibal inquired, his interest piqued further.

Will rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “Deliberately trying to think like a killer might be evil, if it created one ipso facto. I technically become one for those moments, I guess.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. “Freddie Lounds?”

Will made a disgusted noise. “She’s nosy. Tactless. Rude, and ruthless. She thinks I’m crazy. I can’t stand the sight of her, now I think about it.” He remembered the last time he had spoken to her, her sanctimonious voice, her shrewd face both looking up at him and yet somehow also looking down on him.

“I quite agree,” Hannibal mused.

“My headache is gone,” Will suddenly said loudly. “That drink and this chair are working miracles.” He laughed again and folded his arms behind his head, his eyes still closed. “This is great.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, Alana Bloom?” Hannibal went on. 

Will’s smile spread into a grin. “Alana. Alana is beautiful.” He tittered, “Alana has the same number of syllables as beautiful. A-la-na. Beau-ti-ful.”

Hannibal gave a soft chuckle. He decided to wrap up the word association so they might progress, so asked once more, “and finally, Hannibal Lecter?”

There was a quiet pause of several seconds as Will absent-mindedly rubbed his right hand over the lower half of his face, his fingertips ruffling his already untidy facial hair. Hannibal had noticed that Will touched his face often when he wasn’t sure about what he was going to say, or possibly was nervous about voicing what he was thinking.

“The first thing that comes to mind, Will,” Hannibal coaxed. 

Will lowered one hand back into his lap and shook his head slightly. “Hmm. Too many things at once.”

Intrigued, Hannibal replied “try to pinpoint something, if you can. Search for a mental image if words themselves are too difficult.”

“Hannibal… not my therapist, but sort of. My friend too, I think. Presence,” Will added. “He has a powerful presence in the room. Sometimes I feel dwarfed by it. Other times, it’s… nice.” After a moment he loudly exclaimed, as though it had just come to him, “he’s an amazing chef! I’ve never tasted better.”

Hannibal smiled, the sly little smirk of someone who is privy to a private joke, and noted down the answer. “Perhaps one day he will find out if that is true, Will. Now, shall we-”

“Sexy accent,” Will murmured.

Hannibal looked up sharply from his notebook. “What did you say?”

Will let out an excitable laugh. “Hannibal’s accent, it’s very sexy. I like it when he’s talking, he says my name a lot, I like that. Don’t tell him, I wouldn’t want to make him self-conscious.”

It was extremely rare, if it ever happened at all, that someone was able to catch Hannibal off-guard, and as such, the doctor found himself at an unprecedented loss for words. He searched Will’s animated face as if trying to determine if what the man had just said was some sort of jest, or only a mescaline-induced fancy. 

He closed his notebook and set it on the arm rest to his left. He moved forward so he was perched on the edge of the chair, and stared closely at Will, who was still smiling to himself. It wasn’t as if he’d never appraised Will from an aesthetic point of view; the gifted man’s appearance was a tad scruffier than the doctor normally found appealing in a person, though he had previously decided that it was somehow charming on Will Graham. His vivid imagination and capacity for empathy fascinated him, and his understated, sharp intelligence was admittedly very attractive to the equally brilliant doctor.

Hannibal’s sexual inclinations had always been on a broad spectrum, something he had accepted easily as a very young man, but he hadn’t quite worked out – or even really considered, nor had reason to consider – what Will’s tastes might be. He knew that Will desired doctor Bloom. Was there also a quiet desire in him for Hannibal? The thought tickled the doctor’s ego, and set his mind working as to how this new information might benefit him.

“Is it only his accent you find appealing?” Hannibal asked, curious. 

Will lowered his head and grinned sheepishly, turning his face away a little, as if shy. He said in a loud whisper, “Hannibal has the same syllables as beautiful too. Han-ni-bal. Beau-ti-ful. He is a beautiful man. Cheekbones… lips…”

The closest Hannibal had ever come to a blush settled lightly on his cheeks. Once again, he was unsure what to say next. It was unsettling to him that someone could take away his words, even someone as captivating as Will Graham. While his mind was sorting through the ways he might use Will’s confession to his own end later, he realised there was an equally curious part of him that was interested in how Will felt from a more… intimate perspective. Was he flattered? Very much so. Was his surprise mingled with a rising desire for reciprocity? He had to admit; it was.

“I’ve thought about his lips before,” Will stated suddenly. “Once, not long ago. I was showering before work.”

“In what context did you think of them?” Hannibal asked, finding his voice.

Will’s closed eyelids flickered a little and he parted his lips, releasing a barely-audible sigh. His moved his hand, which still sat in his lap, to the crotch of his jeans and rested it there, palm open and facing downward. “I thought of them wrapped around my cock,” he breathed, and began to firmly yet slowly rub at the area beneath his hand.

Hannibal’s breath was caught at Will’s reply, and he watched, rapt, while Will started touching himself, almost disbelieving. Any reasonable therapist would have terminated the treatment at that point, but Hannibal knew immediately that he had no intention of stopping what had become vastly more interesting than he could’ve expected.

He cleared his slightly dry throat to regain composure, and said softly, “did you pleasure yourself while you thought of Hannibal servicing you in the shower, Will?”

“Servicing,” Will repeated, “that’s a good way to put it. Servile doctor Lecter, on his knees. Yes, I pleasured myself to that thought. God, did I.” 

He said the word pleasured slowly and deliberately, as if he enjoyed the way the word felt in his mouth. He stopped caressing himself just long enough for his fingers to undo the button and pull down his fly, immediately reaching back down inside his jeans. He began to move his hand again, back and forth, the material of his jeans taught against his hand.

Will let out a soft little moan of pleasure, and a gentle pulse of arousal flowed through Hannibal. 

“Are you thinking about it now, Will? Are you imagining how it felt to touch yourself, with the vision of Hannibal on his knees at your behest?” 

“Oh yes,” Will replied. “Yes, and it feels incredible.” He added with a salacious little smirk, “Hannibal knows what he’s doing.”

He shuffled upwards in the chair a couple of inches, allowing the friction of the leather to help tug his jeans down a little way to give his hand more room to move, exposing the pale skin of his lower abdomen and the dark curls beneath. Hannibal noticed that Will didn’t appear to be wearing underwear. Was that a common occurrence? He felt a quickening of his heartbeat at the notion, something else that rarely happened to him.

_How naughty of you, Will_ he thought to himself.

Almost as if Will had heard the thought, he smiled and pulled his hard cock from his jeans, dispelling any doubt that he was underwear-free. Hannibal took a quick breath and found himself watching with an undeniable desire as Will took firm hold of his exposed, engorged dick and stroked it steadily in front of him.

Will murmured, “I wonder how much doctor Lecter could take in his throat. I wonder what that exotic tongue feels like. I wonder what he’d sound like, with a mouth full of my dick.” He gasped faintly as he tightened his fist harder around his shaft and began to move it more quickly.

Captivated, Hannibal followed the movement of Will’s hand; the smooth motion upwards, the gentle massage with his thumb for only a second when it reached the reddened tip, the slightly lighter grip on the delicious downward stroke. He was aware that his own hand had curled into a loose fist as he watched, mirroring Will’s own, allowing his mind to consider what it would feel like to be the one holding Will’s most intimate part. He was generally distasteful of the coarse language Will was using, but in the context that presented itself, he found it oddly titillating.

“Tell me what you’re imagining, Will,” he said softly.

“My hand in Hannibal’s hair. Shower water raining over both of us. Hannibal is hungry for me,” Will replied, speaking in shorter sentences, his breathing becoming considerably more erratic as his hand passionately worked. “He’s holding onto my hips to steady himself. He loves it. Oh, God… he just loves sucking me…”

Hannibal leaned forward a little more, ignoring his own fiercely hard manhood and quickened pulse that nearly had him feeling light-headed, taking in every detail of the sensual display before him, storing it away in the palace of his memory to visit later. Will’s boyish face was in rapture, and dusted lightly with perspiration. His parted lips trembled slightly. His body moved with each deep breath, his left hand now gripping the leather of the chair with white knuckles. His member was long, flushed, several shades of dusky pink darker than the hand that held it. He was utterly beautiful in his gratification.

He was also clearly coming close to his release already. He was jerking his hand furiously over his shaft, panting, loudly moaning as he revelled in his pleasure, writhing in the chair.

“And how does your stirred passion end?” Hannibal asked in a low tone, suddenly almost absurdly afraid to disturb Will’s erotic haze at a critical moment by speaking too loudly and breaking the spell. “Describe to me how it ends, how it feels to be so close to blissful orgasm, in the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth.”

“So good, so, so good,” Will gasped, his lust-filled voice almost a whimper, “his mouth feels so damn good! He sucks me harder but really slowly… near the end, I want to come but he… he’s going so fucking slowly… teasing me as long… as he can… he looks so hot with my dick thrusting… between those gorgeous lips…” 

He arched his back as he drew so very close, all thoughts silent save for that mental apparition of Hannibal kneeling in front of him with a mouthful of his stiff cock, and he bit his bottom lip with the effort not to scream. A tiny droplet of blood appeared on his lip from where one canine tooth had pressed harder than the other.

“Oh God, let me come, let me come in your mouth Hannibal,” he begged aloud to the image in his mind. “Faster, please, oh my God…”

Hannibal had not intended to interfere at all but the sight of that single, carmine-red drop on Will’s quivering lip as he gasped in ecstasy broke his resolve in an instant. He rose and moved swiftly to Will’s side, leaning his face down to the same level as Will’s, breathing deeply the masculine scent of his excitement. 

He tilted his head right beside Will’s ear and whispered softly, “I want to taste you, Will. I’m going faster now, you can come. _Come for me_.” 

His words elicited the most lascivious, exquisite moan from Will. He then turned to lean over Will in the chair, and settled a deep kiss on his mouth, giving his bleeding lip a gentle suck, his own arousal coursing through his body as he felt Will’s tongue eagerly clash with his, the sweetly metallic taste of blood shared in both their mouths. Hannibal reached down to grip the side of Will’s face, and with a low growl in his throat, pressed into the kiss even harder. 

Will’s body bucked in his seat under Hannibal’s kiss and he swooned from the electric force of the orgasm that crashed into him, and he came in a rich, creamy-white surge over his fingers and abdomen, continuing to pump his fist around his length for several seconds, making him twitch with the shivers it created.

Hannibal pulled away slowly from the kiss, and watched Will’s exhilarated expression as the young man slowly regained control of his breathing, his eyes still closed. Glancing down at Will’s crotch, at his manhood which was still voluminous but softening now, and gazed thoughtfully at the sticky mess. 

He’d had the opportunity to have a taste of Will’s lifeblood. He could not bring himself to deny the opportunity for the taste of something else. Here was the rich bouquet of Will Graham; blood and seed. Arguably the most intimate productions of his lithe, beautiful body.

Tapping once, lightly, at the quickly cooling semen on the top of Will’s hand with his index finger, he drew it up to his lips, snaking out the tip of his tongue to take the small amount. He then held his tongue still in his mouth a moment, eyes shut, as he compared the bitter yet pleasing taste to that of the coppery tang of the blood. The flavours of Will complimented one another.

It dawned on him that as well as his furtive taste, he had also greatly enjoyed kissing Will. The still-dazed man’s stubble had grazed his chin in what was not an unpleasant feeling, his lips were surprisingly soft, and his hot tongue welcomingly enthusiastic. Watching him pleasure himself had been a moment so erotic, Hannibal’s own erection had not remotely subsided.

Will murmured something that Hannibal couldn’t quite discern, obviously beginning to come down from his erogenous high, and so the doctor acted quickly. He pulled his pocket square from his jacket, unfolded it, and deftly began to mop up the mess, which thankfully had not spread over Will’s clothes except for a tiny spot on the hem of his plaid shirt. 

Hannibal used an unsoiled section of the material to dab off the excess from Will’s manhood, before taking it in his hand – pausing for only a moment, finding that he enjoyed how it felt against his palm, and forcing himself to tuck away the carnal thoughts that brought, in the interest of calming his vigour – and placing it gently back into Will’s jeans. He pulled up the zipper, re-did the button, and stepped back, searching for anything out of place. Satisfied, he prudently balled up the handkerchief and placed it in the empty waste-paper basket beneath his desk for retrieval and laundering later, then sat back down in his own chair, crossing one leg over the other with intent to hide the noticeable distension at the crotch of his tailored trousers. 

“Can you still hear me, Will?” he said, picking up his notebook again.

“Sure can,” Will replied, his tone cheerful. He opened his eyes and looked into the light of the metronome again. “This is really relaxing. I might need to buy one of these. Maybe listen to it while I try to sleep; it might even avert the bad dreams. Do you think?”

“It can’t hurt to try, certainly. How are you feeling just now?” Hannibal asked.

“Mm, pretty good actually,” Will said, drumming his fingertips together absent-mindedly. “I really like this chair.”

Hannibal smiled. “I think it’s time we bring you back to reality for now, if you’re ready.”

“Let’s do it!” Will agreed merrily.

“Alright. Focus on the light again, Will,” Hannibal instructed. “You are returning now, back to this room, this pleasant room. You feel calm, and safe,” Hannibal coaxed. “I’m going to count to five, and upon reaching five, you will have returned fully to the room. One…”

Will felt his head swimming slightly as he watched the light, while Hannibal’s soothing voice counted aloud. He could register that he felt calm, and that the soft-focus of the world was beginning to take hard-edged form again. As the doctor reached halfway through the count, Will became aware of the warm leather beneath him, of the dim light seeping in through the tall windows, and of the faint scent of both his cologne and Hannibal’s.

“Five,” Hannibal said finally.

Will blinked hard several times, and glanced around the room a moment, before his gaze landed on Hannibal’s face.

“Doctor Lecter,” he said, “I’m ‘awake’ now?”

Hannibal nodded, “you are indeed. You will feel somewhat strange for a little while, but there’s no need to fret. It’s merely the effect of the mescaline. I gave you a minute dose, you will begin to feel normal again soon.”

“At least, as normal as it’s possible for me to feel, considering how I’ve been lately,” Will sighed. He glanced over at the notebook on Hannibal’s lap. “So, how did it go? You were right, I can’t really remember what we talked about. Did you find out anything useful?”

Hannibal gave him an unusual little smile, one Will hadn’t seen before and couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Absolutely,” the doctor confirmed, his brown eyes gleaming. “You revealed some very interesting things to me. I was able to see a lot more than I had anticipated.”

“Well, that sounds promising,” Will replied, pushing his slipping glasses upwards with one finger.

“Indeed. We are still a ways off from establishing the stability of your frame of mind, however,” Hannibal continued. “Such troubled thoughts as you are experiencing takes time to comprehensively understand. While you have given me some interesting insight, I would like you to undertake this exercise with me again, ideally sometime this week. Perhaps, several more times. I’d very much like to see what else you might show me.”

Will nodded slowly. “Alright. I still feel a little dizzy, do you mind if I stay sitting a while?”

“Not at all, Will,” Hannibal said. “Tell me, how do you feel besides dizzy?”

Will thought for a moment, a faintly surprised look alighting on his brow. “I actually feel really good. Sort of… elated. Like the rushing feeling after you stand up too fast, but more… pleasant, I guess? My head doesn’t hurt right now either. Either the therapy agreed with me, or the mescaline did, or maybe both.”

Hannibal jotted down some final notes, and closed the book. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, since his erection had finally abated and he had no need to conceal it. He fetched the previously opened bottle of water from the back of the room and handed it to Will.

“Adequate hydration is important while under the effect of any drug,” he advised.

“Thanks,” Will murmured, unscrewing the cap and taking a long, slow drink. 

He watched as Hannibal took his notebook and pen over to his desk. The doctor began to arrange a few loose papers on the desk, and put the book away in his drawer, fastidiously neat as always. Will suddenly frowned slightly in confusion as he looked over at him.

“Doctor Lecter?” he piped up.

Hannibal looked up from his papers. “Yes, Will?”

“I don’t know if the mescaline is playing tricks on me,” Will said, “but, when you started the hypnosis… didn’t your jacket have a handkerchief?”

 

The End


End file.
